Glass Ashes
by StarryDarkSky
Summary: Murder coursed through her veins like a disease, consuming and destroying the girl she once was. Clover Grey is a thirteen year old girl striving to survive. With dark secrets she finds a new group, but her plans of fleeing are knocked down when she befriends a reserved redneck with a cutthroat attitude. (Daryl/Father/Daughter) (Most likely eventual Carl/OC)
1. Chapter 1

Glass Ashes

Chapter One:

Bitter

The ashes have stained my cheeks with a black dust, tear marks cutting through the mask. The glass in the fire is shattered into little tiny shards, the bones in the fire crumbling and blackened with ashes.

Broken sobs escape my mouth, hands trembling.

"Get up, girl." The man says gruffly, grabbing me by the back of my shirt and pulling me from my kneeling position by the put out fire, but throwing me on the ground once again. My body falls to the dirt with a 'thud'. "I said, 'up'!" The man's voice is full of rage, and I raise an arm to block myself from his hits.

"Don't hurt her!" My mother cries out, also sobbing.

"Quiet you bitch!" A member from the group hits her in the face.

"Mom!" I scream, but the last thing I see is the back of a gun hitting me in the face.

My eyelids feel heavy as lead, and I struggle to open them and keep them that way.

"Clover...wake up sweetheart, wake up." Mom's voice is panicked, everything blurry and dark, so dark. "It's me, sweetheart. Everything is going to be okay."

My eyes find my wrists, bound to the arms of a chair, facing Mom. My ankles are bound to the legs of the chair, Mom is tied up in the same way.

"W-wh-what's going on?" My eyes fill with tears of fear.

"We'll be okay." Mom says, pure terror in her eyes.

It sounds more like she is trying to convince herself rather than me.

Deep voices and footsteps clamber to us in the darkness, sounding metallic and bouncing off the dark walls. They're almost here.

"One last thing, sweetheart."

"Yeah, Mom?"

"I love you, Clover."

And then, the door flung open.

**One Year Later**

The sunlight streams through the windshield, shining into my eyes and onto the beige leather seats of the truck.

My muscles are stiff from the cramped position of sleeping in the backseat of a truck all night. Rubbing my tired eyes, I look around. Nothing. Just me and the silence of being alone.

My worn, yet sturdy backpack sits in the passenger seat, not holding much supplies. Grabbing it, I exit the truck and shut the door quietly behind me. The air is warm, and the silence is not settling well with me, fingertips grazing my gun in its holster.

One year.

One year of running, one year of hiding, one year of wasting tears on things not worth crying for.

A year.

It's strange looking back on myself a year ago, who I was, what I did, but now, the person I was is gone forever. She will never come back, she is in the past.

I guess we don't really think too much about who we've become.

I don't want to think about what I've done.

The horizon is an orange haze, the asphalt beneath my feet absorbing my footfalls, trash littering the roads and tumbling softly from the light breeze. A beautiful day. The tree leaves shuffle together, the smell of the outdoors filling my nostrils.

A sharp alarm slices through the peacefully quiet outdoors, loud, making me cringe. Gunshots reverberate in my eardrums, invading my head. My fingers find fistfuls of my chocolate hair, my body shaking.

Snarls and growls emerge from the woods, lots of them. More than I can handle. The walkers are closing in on me, and the only thing I can do is run towards the sounds, hoping they'll save me.

Running into the woods, little branches whip me in the face, thorns snagging at my arms, legs and face also. Blood droplets drip down my face from the cuts the thorns have given me, almost as if I am crying the red liquid.

I trip over the roots of a tree, falling to the dirt but quickly rising to my feet again.

A walker protrudes from the trees, grabbing my left arm. Unsteadily, I make a grab for my knife. The smell of my human flesh and warm blood gives the walker a feral look in its dead eyes.

The walkers flesh around its mouth has been torn off, the rotted remnants jagged and torn. Its hair is stringy and lax against its grey, pungent skin.

Rotten hands squeeze my arms so hard the bones feel like they're crushing. I turn to try and break from its grip, but failing. The fingers of my left hand find the handle of my knife, pulling at it.

The walker throws me to the ground, my knife finding my skin.

A stinging on my right forearm makes me cry out. When my arm had come uncrossed, the knife dragged over my forearm, cutting me.

Stabbing the walker, I run, blood leaving a trail in the leaves behind me. The thick liquid smells of rust almost, smells salty. It coats my hands and arm thickly, eyes dotting with tears. My breath is heavy, legs still pushing to run for the sounds.

But the sounds have faded away, and I keep running for the bright clearing ahead of me. The last gunshot had been a couple of minutes ago, the sounds of hungry monsters following me.

Bursting into the clearing, a massive prison is revealed to me. Without thinking, I run towards it, my best bet of surviving.

I see people. Real people.

I run as close as I can get, silence overtaking everything, everything blurred. My body feels heavy.

My fingers find the chain linked fence, weak eyes gazing out to the people. I almost say something, anything, just a word, to let them know I'm here.

_Almost._

A shrill cry stops me.

A baby.

A living being.

A moment.

It's all it takes.

All it takes to bring me back to that bitter moment.

Back to _**then**_.

**Author's Note: Hello everybody! I know this isn't very good, maybe a bit rushed, but I promise it **_**does**_ **get better, despite how hard it is to believe. This is my first fanfic so don't be too hard on me, please. Tell me what you thought! I really hoped you enjoyed.**

**-StarryDarkSky**


	2. Chapter 2: Photographs

**Glass Ashes**

Chapter Two:

Photographs

_**WARNING: This chapter, and more to come, will have dark themes in it, I apologize if it isn't your thing.**_

**One Year Before**

"You think you're so much better...don't you?" The man's voice is rough, sinister. I can hear him, the sizzling of the skin, the whimpers against the gag as the brand cooks the flesh. "But...we all do bad things...sometimes to survive...sometimes for fun." The smell of the blistering skin makes me sick.

My wrists are bound together, latched onto a chain connected the ceiling. My feet can't touch the ground, and I dangle, weak and defeated. Tears sting and leak from my eyes, sobs muffled by the gag in my mouth and tied around the back of my head. It's so dark...and I hear faint sobs coming from all around, but mostly, I hear the deep voice of my captor, him branding people.

I can see the metal glowing red and yellow in the dark.

"You ain't, you're just another shattered soul. Your time will come, when you do something vile. And deep down, somewhere inside, that monster will awaken, and you'll realize you liked it...maybe just a little more than you should have."

A wretched sob presses against the fabric in my mouth.

"Shhh-shhh-sh-sh-sh-shhh-shhh…" The man comes into my view, bloodied finger pressing to the gag. His face is slightly wrinkled, his evil grin missing some teeth, the rest slightly blackened and yellowed. "You a pretty one ain't cha?" The words make my heart rise to my throat, my stomach curl, and mouth go dry. The finger trails from the gag, down my neck, and to my collarbone. "You ain't fully grown…" His smile is sick, and I want to do anything, kick him, bite him, spit in his face, anything to harm him- but I'm useless. I can't move, can't breathe, I can hardly think. "There's always somethin' so sweet about the little ones...so innocent. Adorable. Your big eyes will do just fine…"

My shirt is pushed up to beneath my chest.

He heats the brander, the metal glowing brighter. He steadies it, aiming for my left side ribs.

"This will hurt a little bit Darlin'." He chuckles, showing no remorse. "But I like a squirmer."

The brander is pressed to my pale flesh, feeling as if the skin is on fire.

It's almost like burning yourself with a curling iron, but times a million.

There is no words to describe the pain.

A scream of agony and hatred rips my throat raw, and I struggle against my wrists latched to the chain and hook.

I head butt the man in the nose- hard.

The brander clatters to the ground, the man grabbing his face in pain.

"Agh!" He bellows. "You dumb bitch!"

His nose drips blood, lips pulled back to reveal his disgusting teeth. Spitting the blood on the floor, he looks back into my wide eyes.

A dark chuckle emits from him.

"You're gonna pay for that."

His fist connects with my right side temple, and I only see black.

**Present Day**

Sometimes it's all way too much. Just every little piece of being alive, is far more overwhelming than anyone could imagine. It feels like I'm constantly suffocating, aching for another breath in the sea of my clouded thoughts and tears. My memories hard waves pushing me around, bruising my ribs and knocking any trace of air from me. I always want to surface, fight desperately, try to get a breath of air, but it's impossible.

I wonder what it's like to surface and take another breath.

My eyes fling open.

My arm is stitched and wrapped in gauze, looking fresh and clean in contrast to the rest of my bloodied and dirt smudged skin.

The bed beneath me has some blankets on it, worn and faded, the walls a dull gray. Standing up, my muscles are tense. My vision is clouded with black spots for a moment, making me feel dizzy and dehydrated.

I remember falling. I remember gunshots following and the broken man's face in my blurred vision.

I remember a man going crazy and taking off into the prison despite the protests of others.

I remember the baby. Crying.

The thoughts of the baby makes me feel sick. It makes me remember things I tried to push to the back of my mind.

"You're awake." A voice says, sounding tired.

A man, with white hair and a white beard is at the door. He is missing a leg, The weight the leg used to carry supported by wooden crutches. His blue eyes shows years of age and experience, each of the wrinkles on his face seemingly there with a purpose. He looks like a man with a story.

I suppose we all have stories.

"I am." I reply, walking to the bars. My right hand grabs a bar, trying to push the door open, but the restriction of the lock stops me. I try to jiggle the door a few more times, but fail.

"It's locked, but you're welcome to keep trying."

My throat goes dry.

What if it's like last time?

To keep from looking crazy, I refrain from tugging at my hair. I shake my head, trying to will the thoughts away.

I can almost feel the blood on my hands again. Wiping them on my jeans, as if the blood was really there, I place them around the bars to keep them from shaking.

"Open it." My voice shakes, not sounding authoritative as I'd wanted it too.

"I'm sorry, I can't do that." The man says.

No...it can't be like last time. It just can't. Nothing can be as sick and disturbing as last time.

"Why? Why not?" I ask frantically, shaking the bars slightly.

"One, I don't have the keys, two, well, I'd have to talk to the rest of the group."

_Rest of the group._

I try to swallow but my mouth is too dry.

"Th-then talk to them! I'm- I mean- I need to go. I can't stay here- I can't, I can't, I can't!" My hands grasp my hair, taking short breaths that don't help anything. "I have to go...I have to go…" I mumble.

"Calm down. I'll talk to the group. Worrying won't help."

It won't, but being here won't either.

My eyes flash open once again, body lying heavily in the bed. This time, the air feels almost a little too cold, but nice against my hot skin, covered in thin sheen of sweat.

The cells are dark, the only light the pale glow from the moon, coming in lightly through the barred windows.

I can hear the baby whimpering, someone trying to shush it. The baby.

A figure emerges, a jingling noise coming from it.

A tall man, the broken man, he has the keys. His hair is long and straight, blue eyes holding the pain and secrets he holds back. His arms are muscle-y, a few veins straining against the surface of his skin.

I quickly get up from the bed, stumbling to the bars. The broken man unlocks the door slowly, creaking as it opens. The sounds reverberate off the empty space, and I stand there, dumbfounded.

"You gonna get out or what?" The man has a thick accent, rough, his blue eyes sad. His broad shoulders have a certain weight to them.

"Yes." I say quickly, stepping from the cell. The man shuts the bars, and I look around the dark prison. There's a lot of blood stains, cloth scattered on the ground.

Not a pleasant sight.

"My weapons-" I intervene as the man starts walking away. He stops, his back still facing me, waiting for me to talk. "I want them back."

He walks again, angel wings on his leather vest curving against his shoulder blades.

"Wait-" I take a step after him. "I want to know what happened here."

He turns his head slightly to left, almost looking back. He takes a breath, as if he is about to say something important. But, he only utters one word.

"No."

He walks away, disappearing into the darkness.

I don't sleep the rest of the night, I just sit in the corner of the cell I had been in, arms wrapped around my knees, face buried in them.

The memories come back, swamping my brain, the side of my ribs where I had been branded burning slightly from thinking about it. The skin is now in the shape of an 'x', the scar a gruesome puffy thing.

The thoughts make me dizzy and sick, bile rising in my dry throat but never exiting my mouth.

"You gonna sit there all day?" A soft voice asks, a sweet accent to it.

Slowly, I raise my head, my greenish brown eyes meeting her blue. Her blonde hair is in a loose ponytail, slightly wavy.

"Come on, we're eatin' breakfast now." She wrings her hands together nervously. "It's not much but...it's somethin'..."

I stare at her, untrusting.

"You'll be fine, everyone's real friendly…" She purses her lips, waiting for a reply. Coming up with no response, she holds her hand out. "Come on…"

I look at her hand, welcoming- almost too welcoming. Standing to my feet, I ignore the hand, following her to the mess hall.

"Everyone is a bit run down, tired. We just lost some people, it's been real tough on us so far...especially our leader, Rick. He just lost his wife."

"The baby...whose is it?" I ask.

"Rick's wifes. Carl, he's around your age, he's Rick's son, he's been puttin' up a brave face but we see through it. He took it bad, he was the one who…" Her voice trails.

"Sorry." I say. She sure shares an awful lot. "Why are you telling me these things?"

"Why not?" She replies.

Grabbing two bowls, she plops some rice into them, the rice looking too dry and sticky. She places two spoons in the bowls, and we sit down together.

"What about you? If you don't mind me askin'."

"What do you mean?" I ask, pushing the rice around.

"I mean...like, before you came here."

The words stab my chest, puncturing my lungs, making it hard to breathe.

"I-..." My breaths are short, sputtery almost. "I-I lost my family. I've been alone for awhile now."

Lies.

"I'm sorry...I know what it's like. I lost my mom, my step brother…"

I say nothing, trying to swallow the sticky rice. My appetite is lost, so I say goodbye to the girl, and head back to the cell.

My bag is laying on the worn bed, frayed blue sheets wrinkled and ragged around the leather bag.

My hands find the flap, opening it. The weapons are gone, but my clothes and other belongings are in there.

Reaching towards the bottom, I feel the cool metal chain on my the item out with trembling hands, a lump rises in my throat. The silver oval locket lies heavy in my palm, nimble fingers finding the latch and swinging it open.

On the left is a picture of my mother, bright white teeth gleaming, her pretty brown eyes crinkle, her dimples that match mine showing. Her head is thrown back slightly, as if she is laughing, the background a pale blue, making her look like she is glowing.

Her hair is an orange brown, slightly curled naturally. The picture shows only her head and her shoulders, hair cascading further than the image reveals.

Tears prick my eyes, burning.

To the right is a picture of my father, who I've never met. He looks almost as if he is examining my mother's beauty, a small smile curving the edge of his mouth. His blue eyes are icy, holding something she can't see, and his dark brown hair is slightly long, tickling just above his ears.

I collapse to the bed, sobs wracking my body, holding the locket tightly in my palm as the tears come.

I wonder who the man in the photograph is that I never got to know.

**Authors Note: Hello lovelies! I am soooo excited from the amount of success this story has gotten! In just the first day I was almost going to burst because I was so happy from the positive feedback! I'm sorry I haven't updated in awhile :'( because I know what that feels like to be waiting. Anyway, I hope to be updating more often, I was super busy because my family is having some issues. PLEASE share this story somewhere or maybe just tell someone about it. Also, it'd mean the absolute world to e if you guys reviewed, I like how many of you liked it, but I hate having silent readers. I appreciate you all!**

**(Other info: To give you all a visual on what the mother looks like, I have casted Isla Fisher as the mom)**

**P.S **

**REVIEW!**


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